Martin Cohen was born in the South Bronx somewhere on Simpson Street, went to a Yeshiva on East Broadway and Canal Street, and then lived in the South of Brooklyn, the South of Long Island, The Southern Tier of Upstate New York, The South of Manhattan, and finally South Jersey in Egg Harbor.
View all posts by martin gottlieb cohen
i saw your lips moving, but couldn’t understand what you were saying, norman
rather noisy.
hmm, today’s haiku is saying what???
i should have known it was authored by martin, by it’s style.
i’m looking down to see if my feet are slipping in mud, or something, because i am getting no where.
i should keep martin’s style, though at a distance, in mind before attempting it’s undertaking.
each day martin, you remind me of the forerunners in haiku, in a refreshing sort of way. however, let there be a minutive amount each day. who knows, your creations may grow on me.
“martin” the picasso of haiku. a question martin, is your middle name pablo.
This works well on the imagination.The heavy rain blocking traffic’s sound. Then the cars tyres swishing along the road. We just know the children will be back soon, probably before the seats are dry. As you can tell I like it.
sorry i’m late, paul n.
expressions, emotional response, composition, apprehend with the mind, intuitive recognition, written about, imaginative and creative powers…
all things haiku possess; especially word play. so simple, yet so complex; sounds rather poetic, huh. rethinking your (surmise), paul.
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The audio is very hi-fi. Super.
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i saw your lips moving, but couldn’t understand what you were saying, norman
rather noisy.
hmm, today’s haiku is saying what???
i should have known it was authored by martin, by it’s style.
i’m looking down to see if my feet are slipping in mud, or something, because i am getting no where.
i should keep martin’s style, though at a distance, in mind before attempting it’s undertaking.
each day martin, you remind me of the forerunners in haiku, in a refreshing sort of way. however, let there be a minutive amount each day. who knows, your creations may grow on me.
“martin” the picasso of haiku. a question martin, is your middle name pablo.
somethings, one should keep to themselves.
i couldn’t, i fear becoming a protege of martin’s.
dog chasing…
cat…
monitoring the sparrow
i am sure martin is thinking, if i am to take upon myself, his style, i need to practice
oh well, this day started with such high hopes.
a nice juxtaposition which works well on many levels–especially the aural. Well done!
This works well on the imagination.The heavy rain blocking traffic’s sound. Then the cars tyres swishing along the road. We just know the children will be back soon, probably before the seats are dry. As you can tell I like it.
i wonder, if anyone realizes what i feel towards martin’s work, after all my comments
Thanks, Martin–recalls watching too many cornfields developed in northern Illinois. I wrote something like:
Out walking
traffic roars
I face open fields
and crickets
hold their own
the stillness
a fly passes over the corn field
cereal packet picture
at breakfast
amid the usual din
a barrage of stimulation
away, away
home
i should have realized the above were norman’s
martin’s and ellen’s twice.
mind you, just a suggestion…
there are things there, though lacking a proper evolving
Out walking
I face open fields and crickets
hold their own…
traffic roars
the stillness
over the corn field
a fly passes
at breakfast
cereal packet picture
amid the usual din
a barrage of stimulation
home
away, away
what about bob’s
“exposed bulbs drink
drizzling rain…
taps on tin roof”
nauseating
the barely audible
boys’ excitement in the field
during the rain
the sound of music —
to my ears
could somebody please explain how haiku
translates into poetry? there is some
clever word play here, but nothing
that even remotely resembles poetics.
sorry i’m late, paul n.
expressions, emotional response, composition, apprehend with the mind, intuitive recognition, written about, imaginative and creative powers…
all things haiku possess; especially word play. so simple, yet so complex; sounds rather poetic, huh. rethinking your (surmise), paul.
–
with the wintry sunrise
even more yellow–
mucous